


Begin again (where it once ended)

by Evil_Keshi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Death, Horses, Injury, M/M, Past James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:31:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6014209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Keshi/pseuds/Evil_Keshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a severe accident during a jumping competition, Bucky couldn't even bring himself to approach a horse anymore. Too scary. Too painful. When he met Steve however, the blond man who was (almost) in love with the horses he raised himself, Bucky didn't have much of a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - The accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone ! I've wanted to write this story for a long, long time and now finally seemed like the right time and... Here you are. So yes, horses. I never saw any fanfiction revolving around horses before but hopefully, you will enjoy this one. I've been a rider myself for thirteen years already and I promise I know what I'm talking about, however I'm way more familiar with the French vocabulary regarding horses/horse riding than the English one. If you are and you spot anything off, please tell me :) And if you have any question, I'll be happy to answer in the comments. Enjoy !
> 
> (For this prologue, all you have to know is that a _Trakehner_ is a German horse breed while a _Friesian_ is a horse from the Netherlands and that an _oxer_ is a type of jump with two rails, separated by varying width.)

  


  


Clear sky, Bucky noted as he lifted his head and noticed the absence of clouds above him. Too much sun, though. Not good for Sergeant's sight on the third obstacle, since he would have to jump facing the bright light. Also, the grass was a little wet with dew, so he should be careful not to go too fast and slip. Bucky kept walking, counting his steps and turning them into horse strides in his mind as he crossed the distance between the third and the fourth obstacles, his face scrunched up in concentration.

Bucky was used to jumping competitions and so was Sergeant, the Trakehner he loved so much that his only wish was to buy him and offer him a good retirement once he would grow too old to jump any longer. Sergeant was thirteen already and Bucky didn't give him more than one or maybe one year and half before the brave horse started showing signs of tiredness, so once the time would come, Bucky would try to keep Sergeant, which, if it worked, would be the fulfilment of an old dream. He had saved money to buy his own horse ever since he had been old enough to know what he wanted out of life (read: thirteen) and every coin of the monthly allowance his parents gave him went to the piggy bank (and later, on his bank account) that he had labelled _my horse budget_.

Back when he was thirteen, Bucky imagined his future horse like... Well, he wanted a Friesian stallion like the ones he saw on dressage shows, with their thick black mane and their long feathering. And then, at sixteen, he'd fallen in love with Sergeant, a six-year-old dark bay Trakehner gelding. A few years later, Bucky had also fallen in love with the horse's owner, the Rumlow family's son, but that was another story.

The young rider finished walking his course and turned around one last time to make sure he had memorised the pattern before he left, heading back to the spot where he could see Brock and Sergeant, the latter busy scratching his forehead against the man's shoulder.

"Having fun ?" Bucky called as he approached his boyfriend and the horse.

"Yeah," Brock snorted, rolling his eyes, "I feel like my arm is going to fall off but yeah, I'm having fun. How long before it starts ?"

"Fifteen minutes. And I'm number 7, so... Twenty-five, something like that."

"And you're gonna warm him up some more ?" Brock asked, before he gently pushed Sergeant's nose away from his arm, "Come on, boy, play nice."

"Nah," Bucky answered as he patted Sergeant's neck and took the reins from his boyfriend's hand. "I already jumped before so I'll just walk him a little until it starts, then one last gallop and we're good. Hey, do you have a carrot or an apple on you ?"

"Why do you think he was rubbing himself all over me ?" Brock shot back with a grin as he searched in the pocket of his jeans, immediately earning Sergeant's undivided attention, "Here."

"Thanks," Bucky chirruped before he pecked Brock's cheek, stubble grazing his lips, and he gave an apple quarter to his horse. "Okay boy, let's go. Say goodbye to daddy."

"No matter how many times you say that, it will never stop disturbing me," Brock frowned, scratching Sergeant behind his right ear nonetheless.

Bucky laughed as he placed his left foot in the stirrup and mounted in a swift movement, gathering the reins in his hands, and he squeezed Sergeant's flanks to start walking even as he turned his head to yell behind his shoulder:

"Love you too !"

Followed by Brock's light laugh, Bucky headed for the warm-up arena where a few horses and their riders were already gathered, some walking and others jumping, but all focused. As soon as he caught sight of the others, Sergeant pranced a little, bouncing on his feet and neighing as if announcing his arrival, and Bucky chortled at his horse's behaviour. Lifting himself off the saddle and leaning down, he ran his hand across Sergeant's head in a tender gesture and whispered in his ear:

"Show off."

Sergeant didn't answer, obviously, and he kept strutting, his curved ears moving quickly in all directions as he glanced at the other horses passing nearby. Bucky sat upright, rolling his eyes at Sergeant's behaviour, but he let him walk at his own pace. As long as his horse didn't show any interest to approach and bother the others, it wasn't a problem. Even as he walked and made sure that Sergeant stayed somewhat in line, Bucky kept his attention on the speakers scattered throughout the arena, from which the riders would be notified of the start of the competition before being called one at a time by their names and numbers. As the minutes ticked away, Bucky broke into a slow gallop to check Sergeant's balance and impulsion; satisfied, he slowed down and resumed walking right as the speakers blared the signal of the beginning.

As always, his heart started beating a little faster and adrenaline spread through Bucky's veins as he observed the first rider enter the competition arena and take their first jump. It wasn't the prospect of victory that made him love jumping competitions, nor the applause after each successful jump, nor the possibility of going international if he had the proper results. None of that mattered. What Bucky loved was feeling Sergeant vibrate under him, his muscles move with him during the shared effort, the trust Sergeant placed in his rider as Bucky chose their path, sometimes adding a calculated risk to their course.

The second rider entered the arena right as the first one jumped the last obstacle and Bucky threaded his fingers through Sergeant's mane as he whispered:

"Five more to go, boy. Let's do our best."

Again, he watched the current competitor's course, noting small mistakes in the path the rider had chosen (needing huge strides to adjust, which tired the horse quicker.) The speakers around the warm-up arena suddenly cracked but instead of calling the next competitor, a disembodied voice reminded all present people:

"Please, we demand that all dogs be kept on a leash when near the arenas and horses; we repeat, keep all dogs on a leash, thank you."

Bucky rolled his eyes at that before glancing around, trying to spot the dog running free. Every single damn time it happened, even though everyone knew the restrictions regarding dogs on the field. Thank God Sergeant didn't fear dogs and merely watched them with curiosity shining in his so expressive dark eyes. Unable to spot the dog, Bucky hoped its master would quickly put it on a leash, then he focused back on the course.

When the sixth rider's round came up, Bucky left the warm-up area so that he would be ready by the gate of the competition arena for his turn, and there he found his father and Brock waiting for him with smiles on their lips.

"Ready ?" Brock asked, his hand on Bucky's knee.

"Yep," he confirmed, squeezing his boyfriend's fingers.

"Watch out for the third jump," his father told him at the same time as he scratched Sergeant on the nose, "a few horses sidestepped that oxer."

"I know... It's probably because of the light, maybe they couldn't see well enough."

The three of them watched in silence as the rider bearing the number six finished and Bucky could hear his dad and Brock clap their hands at the end of the course while he passed the gate and entered the arena. He giggled to himself when he felt Sergeant perk up under him, his ears pointed forward as he took in the jumps, but Bucky grew serious and focused again when he heard the bell signalling him that he had forty-five seconds to cross the start line and begin.

He started in a light gallop, riding in a circle to adjust Sergeant's balance before going on the first jump; between his fingers, between his thighs, he could feel his horse's excitation as he sped up a little, taking long and even strides to cover the distance.

The two first jumps went well but as he approached the third obstacle, Bucky gently pulled on the reins, keeping Sergeant calm and organised: speed didn't matter here, not if there was a risk that his horse might trip.

Sergeant was only one short stride away from taking the jump when everything went south. Bucky didn't have the time to react. Suddenly, there was a dog slipping under the white fence that surrounded the arena, barking and running at full speed toward him and Sergeant. Both the rider and his horse were distracted for a short second only, but it lasted long enough to upset Sergeant's pace and mess with his last stride before the jump. Sergeant knew it but that didn't keep him from trying, from giving his best with that big heart of gold of his: the horse pushed on his hind legs with all his strength and for a moment, shorter than a heartbeat, Bucky thought they would make it.

They didn't.

Sergeant crashed through the back rail, higher than the first one, and the horse lost his balance, legs uselessly straightened to land on the ground while Bucky tried to lean backward not to put too much weight on Sergeant's shoulders, but his horse slipped anyway when he touched the grass. To Bucky, it happened as if in slow motion: he felt Sergeant crumple under him, saw the ground come closer and closer, and suddenly they were both falling.

Bucky heard a sickening crack when they hit the ground but he couldn't tell where it came from, not when pain shot through his whole body as Sergeant rolled over him. He thought he heard a scream, not realising that it was his own voice, not before he choked on a mouthful of dirt and grass. He rolled and rolled, until everything stilled and a heavy weight collapsed on top of him, a mass of quivering muscles and soft mane.

"S... Sergeant..." he tried to whisper around the dirt and the pain.

He couldn't breathe. He... Sergeant... Why... Why didn't he stand up ? Fear clutched at his heart and Bucky tried to move, to lift his head and see why Sergeant wasn't moving save for the erratic movements of his ribs that Bucky could feel against his legs. As soon as he turned his head though, a new scream was ripped out of his throat and pain overtook him as he collapsed back and passed out.

  


  


"Bucky !"

"Get that horse off of him, now !"

"Someone call 911 !"

"God, Sergeant... It's okay, boy, it's..."

"Don't move him !"

"Bucky... Open your eyes, love, please..."

  


  


When Bucky opened his eyes, heavy eyelids fluttering like the wings of a dying butterfly, all he could see was a white blur. He felt... sick. Tired. And like he was forgetting something. Where was he ? As the seconds passed by, he realised that he was staring at a white ceiling. Dim pain was shooting from his left arm. He also noticed a soft noise, a regular beep coming from his side. He... He shouldn't... be there ? He had somewhere... somewhere to be...

A face appeared above him.

"Bucky ?" Brock asked, relief audible in his voice as he exclaimed, "Oh God Bucky, you're awake !"

Bucky winced and his boyfriend immediately looked apologetic. Lowering his voice, Brock added:

"Sorry, love. I'm just... Fuck, I'm so happy to see you... Awake. You're in the hospital, you had an accident five days ago. Your parents are here too, they just left to grab us some coffee. How do you feel ?"

Bucky tried to process what Brock was saying and suddenly, it all came back to him: the competition, the dog, the fall, Sergeant... Oh God, Sergeant!

"S... Sergeant ?" he croaked out, feeling like fire was burning in his throat. "Brock, how... Sergeant..."

As soon as he saw his boyfriend's face cloud over, Bucky knew something was wrong and his stomach churned with anxiety while his eyes filled with tears. Still, he didn't expect Brock to say, looking like each word was more painful than breathing:

"I'm so sorry, Bucky. Sergeant... He didn't make it, he... He broke his leg when you fell. We... We had to... put him to sleep."

Bucky only had the time to roll over before he threw up.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far, please give me some feedback so I know if I may continue this story ;)


	2. Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, sorry for the delayed chapter, it took me a while to figure out where to cut this chapter and the next one. Many thanks to all of you for your amazing feedback on the prologue, it was really heartwarming to hear that you were as excited as I am about this story. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter !

  


  


"The major increase in our partner's finances..."

_Barking dog. Faltering gallop._

"... and Pepper's newly acquired position might..."

_The jump. The scent of dirt and grass, the sound of erratic breaths._

"Bucky ?"

_Crack._

"Bucky !"

Bucky snapped out of his thoughts with a start, jerking a little in his chair, and he looked around with wide eyes: Tony Stark and Pepper Potts were staring at him with concern written all over their face, and actually, so was the whole meeting room. Fuck.

"I'm... fine ?" he tried, voice hoarse and mouth dry as if he had been running a marathon, a cold sweat running down his back and wetting his shirt.

The heavy silence that answered his half-statement, half-question proved that no one truly believed him.

"Okay everyone, let's take a break," Tony announced as he slowly rose from his own chair, "I'm in need of some coffee."

At that, everybody but Tony and Bucky left the room, which the latter barely noticed as he could still feel his heart beat a little faster than normal. As she left them alone - fully aware that the word _coffee_ was Tony's not-so-secret secret code for _don't bother me for the next fifteen minutes_ \- Pepper threw a pointed glance to her husband and Tony grimaced once she had turned around: she had gotten her point across perfectly well, he had to go easy on Bucky or else he'd have to face Pepper's scary wrath. Not that he intended to be harsh with his employee-slash-friend-slash-protégé, no. Just...

Bucky didn't look too good: dark circles under his eyes, sunken cheeks, the whole deal. Hell, the young man hadn't been fine for a while and Tony knew that this day wouldn't be a good day either: today was a sad anniversary, the third since the accident that had cost Bucky his horse, his dreams and his arm.

"Does it hurt ?" he asked when he caught Bucky clenching his left shoulder with his right hand, for the fifth or sixth time since the start of their meeting, something like a half-hour ago.

The younger male scoffed and immediately let go, turning his head to the other side.

"No," he groaned.

"You can tell me, you know ?" Tony insisted. "I mean, I sort of totally designed this beautiful shiny thing for you, least you can do is yell at me if I screwed up and made it painful. It'll teach me to do it properly next time."

God, he sure hoped there wouldn't be a next time.

"The arm doesn't hurt," Bucky said after a short silence as he looked down at the prosthetic: silvery metal, pliant and comfortable, although it had taken him a while to get used to it. "My shoulder's cold though. And the scars are itchy. Other than that, I'm peachy."

Tony tilted his head to the side and Bucky avoided his gaze, suddenly finding the nails of his fingers extremely interesting. He didn't want to see his boss' expression: he knew he couldn't fool Tony, not about that, and he didn't need to feel guilty about lying on top of everything else.

His boss caressed his goatee, lost in thought for a short while, until he snapped his fingers and came around the table that stood between them in order to face Bucky; he sat down in front of him, without a single care in the world as he crushed some notes under his ass. Swinging his legs, Tony leaned back a little, supporting himself on both of his palms, and he asked:

"So, seeing that you're totally fine and all, I guess you won't see any problem with you coming next Saturday to the inauguration of Pepper's gallery, right ? Open air, beautiful garden, marvellous pieces of art in a natural environment... And horse-drawn carriages for our guests who don't feel like visiting on their feet."

"Tony, don't," Bucky bristled, fully aware of what his friend was implying. "I'm not getting on those carriages."

"Why not ? Pepper would be delighted to have you sit with us in one of those..."

"I said no, Tony !" Bucky shouted, half-standing up with balled up fists before he realised what he was doing and plopped back down, defeated as he added, "I said no."

"Then don't fucking tell me you're okay. It's been three years, Bucky. Three years and you... You don't talk about it, ever. You don't... Hell, you don't live anymore ! After you broke up with Brock, I thought you'd..."

"Tony," Bucky growled on a warning tone, "I'm going to say this only once and I swear if you make me repeat myself, I'll punch you: please, shut up."

"Be my guest, do," Tony shot back, "maybe you'll actually feel better after that."

Bucky glared at him, his demeanour so clearly aggressive and upset that Tony almost took a step back (or tried to, seeing that his - firm and wonderful - ass was occupying the table) and he only resisted the urge to do so because he knew Bucky: all barks and no bite, at least most of the time. With a sigh, he patted the young man's hand and said:

"Maybe you should take some rest, go on a holiday somewhere."

"You..." Bucky started before he snapped his mouth shut, confused.

He set his intent blue gaze on Tony, eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense out of the other's words, until he asked, quiet and hurt:

"Are you firing me ?"

"What ?!" Tony exclaimed, now lost as well. "I never said that. Jesus, I talked about a holiday, nothing else. I'm sending you on a holiday, South of France, beautiful sceneries, sunlight, the sea, whatever. It might do you some good. Live a little and be adventurous, Buck !"

And that, right here, was the reason why some people found Tony Stark so annoying: his ability to get his nose into others' business as if he had actually been somehow involved in it from the start. Even if he did it out of kindness and concern, it could still seem intrusive and truth to be told, Bucky _did_ think it was a little invasive. Why couldn't Tony see that he was fine, for fuck's sake ?!

"You're not my therapist," he groaned. "And you sure as hell don't get to make decisions for me."

Tony shrugged and stood up, quickly heading for his chair and his jacket that rested on it; he fumbled around the pockets briefly and then walked back to Bucky, at a fast pace as if he feared the younger man would bolt and get out before Tony was done with him.

"Here, your airline ticket," he declared as he held out his hand and shoved a rectangular sheet of paper right under Bucky's nose. "Depart tomorrow, forty past seven in the morning. You're welcome."

"You're crazy," the other replied without making the slightest gesture to grab the ticket Tony still held in his outstretched hand. "Does Pepper know about this ?"

"Contrarily to what you might think, I do talk about my big plans to my wife. She agreed with me on this one, so be glad."

Bucky sighed when Tony shook the ticket in front of his face and he eventually took it, although he still didn't intend to act upon Tony's new whim. If he didn't want to travel to wherever the fuck Tony wanted to send him, then he wouldn't go, period. A quick glance to the ticket told him that _wherever the fuck_ had a name: Montpellier. A city, apparently, not that Bucky knew much about it - or cared much about it, since he wasn't leaving America anyway.

Unaware of that fact, Tony beamed and grinned, obviously satisfied and proud of himself since he had at least gotten Bucky to _look_ at the stupid plane ticket, and then he left the room and called everyone back in to resume the meeting, of which Bucky had missed the first half, too lost in mixed memories and nightmares. Maybe Tony was right. Maybe he needed some time off... The encouraging smile Pepper flashed him as she re-entered the meeting room didn't help Bucky to stay strong and stubborn as he had in front of Tony: one did not simply tell Pepper to go to hell.

  


  


Bucky didn't want to go to France. Nope. He had his life here in Brooklyn, why the fuck would he even want to leave, uh ? He lived in a wonderful apartment with huge glass windows that gave the best view on the city, especially at night with all the lights in the streets and buildings; he had a job with an amazing boss (he was talking about Pepper here, _not_ Tony) and a genius millionaire extraordinaire friend (yes, _Tony_.) He had everything he could ever have wished for, right ?

Someone else would probably have pointed out that this big, marvellous apartment didn't serve any purpose since he lived alone, had shied away from his family and most of his friends from... from before. And a courageous (or dumb, depending on one's opinion) person would have, maybe, just maybe, said that Bucky was depressed. Trapped in the past, even though he had cut all the ties that once linked him to his life from before.

But Bucky didn't think so. He was _fine_. Whatever Tony could think didn't apply to him so again, why the fuck would he leave Brooklyn ? So what if his fridge was always nearly empty because he didn't want or didn't feel the energy to cook when he was alone ? What if he didn't go out much anymore ? Not to mention his other problem. A little problem, really, nothing that mattered much or changed his life, even though it was the reason why he would never get in the carriages Pepper wanted for the inauguration. A problem with four legs.

Since Bucky really, really didn't care about Tony's words, he ended up checking Montpellier on his laptop - out of mere curiosity, of course. His flight, if he chose to listen to Tony and go, would bring him from New York to Paris, where he would have to change planes and would then arrive in Montpellier, in southern France.

Okay, the scenery looked damn good, both in the city and around. From what he was reading on his screen, Montpellier was divided in two parts, the old city and the modern one, where some of the buildings followed the plan of Greek and Roman temples. Bucky would be lying if he said that he wasn't at least a little impressed; plus, there seemed to be lots of museums in the oldest part of the city, museums and the opera, remains of the medieval walls and...

Fuck. Tony knew him waaaaay too well. Because, just in case all of the aforementioned great - and potential, since he _didn't_ want to go - visits didn't satisfy his addiction for history and culture, there were lots of villages all around, all with something unique about them. Plus, Carcassonne wasn't that far away. Bucky had never really dreamed of visiting this medieval city, in spite of its glorious patrimony, but really... If he was in France already, not going would be a shame.

Ugh. To go or not to go ? Any pros and cons ? Cons: he didn't speak French... much. Working for Stark Industries would get you to learn some other languages and Bucky was quite confident in his Russian and Spanish but French... Well, he could survive: he knew how to order in a restaurant, ask for the restroom and say that he'd lost his way. So, actually, his (poor) knowledge of French could still pass as a positive point. Fuck.

Well, also, he didn't want to go. Not really. Tony was forcing him, shoving pretty stuff under his nose to coax him into giving in and travelling like he wanted. It didn't come from Bucky. But still, all the possibilities looked interesting - not to say that he was downright salivating.

Then what about his job, his apartment ? Tony hadn't mentioned how long he wanted him away... Well, he shouldn't worry about work in the first place, his boss wouldn't have suggested he took the trip if it didn't go well with his plans for Stark Industries. And Clint owned a double of the key so he wouldn't have any problem to come and check that his lone green plant was still alive.

So, pros ? Sun, hopefully. Free time, most likely. A few weeks far from his responsibilities and Tony's prying. A change of air, another culture, a new place to discover, new people to meet... The opportunity to perfect his French. And the museums !

As he heaved a deep, deep sigh, Bucky closed his laptop and took his phone, a frown on his face as he typed a message to send to Tony.

_I hate you._

The reply was immediate, as if the other man had been waiting for Bucky's text with his phone in hand - and knowing Tony, that might not be far from the truth.

_I knew you'd say yes. I always win ! Have a nice trip, Buckaroo boy !!_

  


  


Flying had never bothered Bucky, at least not until this very day: every single time he had taken a plane, it had been between New York and Washington DC, or towards Boston, whatever. Time passed quickly enough. From New York to Paris, though ? Eight freaking hours to spend sitting, business class or not, was a pain in the ass, literally. Yes, the seat was much more comfortable than those of the economy class but by the end of the third hour, Bucky had grown restless. Staying still had never been easy for him and just thinking that he had five more hours to go, he had almost smashed his head against the tiny window on his right - several times.

He was already starting to regret having listened to Tony... Ah, to think that once he would arrive in Paris, he would still have to take another plane and endure one more hour in the air... Which, with the different time zones, would finally land him in Montpellier at something like half past ten in the evening. Hopefully, his time in France would be more peaceful than the flight: after all, if he had agreed with Tony's plans for him, it sure as hell wasn't so that he would get stressed. He hated to admit it but his friend was right: Bucky didn't do much in his life anymore, beside working, so maybe this holiday would do him some good. Moreover, he couldn't exactly deny that he needed the rest. The past three years had taken their toll on him, both physically and mentally: it showed on his arm, of course, as one couldn't merely ignore the prosthetic or the scars spreading across his left shoulder. Winters were the worst: Bucky hated when the cold seemed to seep under his skin and deep into his bones, making the joints ache with every move he attempted.

And then, there was the fear. Nothing that could be triggered at work, thankfully - it could have been, if Bucky had agreed to go to the inauguration of Pepper's gallery... But now that he was leaving for France, that little problem didn't matter anymore. He didn't need to worry about disappointing his friends by his absence, since they had clearly showed their full support regarding this trip, which they had organised themselves anyway. If Bucky had been any more reluctant, Tony would probably have kicked his butt into the plane, so... Perhaps he should thank his friend a bit more genuinely for this.

  


  


He really, really needed to thank Tony and send a bunch of flowers to Pepper (mostly her, she probably was behind all this): after his agony in the air, Bucky had finally landed in Montpellier and guess what was waiting for him at the local airport ? A wonderful car, with a GPS ready to function and lead him straight to the place that would be his for... Well, as long as Tony agreed to leave him there for, or maybe as long as Bucky wished to stay. Detail.

According to said GPS and the sticky note on the wheel (how did it even get there ?), his destination lay outside the city and beyond the suburbs, one the Post-It qualified as _an idyllic mansion_. Suddenly excited, like a child going on a trip for the first time, Bucky all but threw his heavy luggage inside the car and got in, turning the ignition on with a little spark in his eyes. It had been a long, long time since he last felt so thrilled at the thought of going somewhere, which, to be honest, was fairly surprising: after his boredom on the plane, Bucky would have expected to long for a bed and a good night of sleep in a hotel nearby the airport. Maybe Tony and Pepper knew him better than he knew himself, after all: maybe he _had_ needed this trip and another atmosphere to surround himself with.

Bucky quickly changed his mind though, namely, a little while after he'd left the city, when his car stopped in the middle of nowhere with a weird noise coming from the engine. Oh, fuck. What was that ? A white smoke coming from under the hood answered him: that meant trouble. Immediately feeling annoyed now that fate seemed willing to hinder the trip that he had warmed up to, Bucky glanced at the GPS and his surroundings. The little dot representing the mansion shone on the screen, kilometres away from his current location, so there was no way he would get there on feet in the middle of the night - not to mention that he didn't know these roads and from what he had seen so far, the narrow grove, beyond the trees that sheltered it, was edged with the mountainside on the left and on the right, the road gave way to a cliff.

"I hate you, Tony," Bucky groaned as he realised that he wouldn't make it to the mansion that night - the possibility of getting lost in the dark night or fall over the edge of the road didn't seem too exciting.

He couldn't call for a taxi since he didn't have the number of any company in France so his last option was to sleep in his car until the morning, when he would try to keep going on feet... Groaning his discomfort, as even a Stark sport car definitely wasn't designed for lost men in dire need of sleep, Bucky tried to settle down in his seat.

"Ah," he scoffed before he tried to mimic Tony's voice, " _Go on a holyday, Buckaroo boy, it will do you some good ! Live a little, be adventurous !_ Yeah, damn right."

His frown grew with the minutes, as he was unable to sleep and getting more and more pissed at Tony (from afar, sure, but still pissed) and he was just this close to yell his frustration to the stars (okay, the ceiling of his car) when he slightly turned his head and saw the light.

Literally. He noticed a light shining through the trees, not a flicker but a steady and constant brightness that could only mean one thing: there must be a house there, _people_ , and maybe he could ask for help. The number of a taxi company would do, or perhaps a blanket for his night in the car.

Glad that he had (maybe) found a solution to his problem, Bucky quickly got out of the car and tried to approach the source of the light that he could still see; soon, the trees and bushes on the side of the road became less wild and an opening revealed a narrow drive leading to a house, and the light was shining through one of the windows that he could catch sight of, even from his spot.

Bucky kept his fingers crossed and prayed to be welcome there as he started walking down the path, when loud barks and footsteps broke the silence of the night and suddenly, there was a dog standing between him and the house; a dog snarling at him and baring its teeth, hostility visible in those dark eyes, and Bucky, after briefly considering his chances of running away, yelling, and escaping unscathed, chose the only option he had: he froze, blaming Tony and Pepper for his upcoming death.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please feel free to give me your thoughts and opinions in the comments ! Also, in case any of you reads "A lesson from Russia (with love)" too, know that chapter 11 will be updated soon ;)


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